


life on the moon

by corollary



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Angst, Gen, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corollary/pseuds/corollary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-game. Time Compression was merely the catalyst. Hell is what comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	life on the moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is where I fail at ambiguity. Creatively applied the English school system to Galbadia, because I am a whore. Title comes from a song by David Cook.

The sun was setting. The Garden was parked at Fisherman's Horizon, attempting repairs. The Ragnarok had long been returned to Esthar's custody; it hadn't been theirs to begin with. She missed it, at times. Her stomach always rose during take-off; fluttering with excitement as the ground fell away beneath her feet. It wouldn't be the same now. Galbadia's new president heavily monitored air traffick after learning that Esthar had the capabilities to break atmosphere. It was just more rules leaving her grounded and in one place.

She pulled the blanket closer around herself. After coming back, when the parties and celebrations had calmed down and work had restarted, Rinoa had realised she couldn't stand to look at any of her old clothes. They were buried somewhere underneath Squall's civvies in the one dresser they shared while she wore Garden-issued sweats. Black on Monday, blue and white on Tuesday, green and grey on Wednesday. The structure of it gave her stability. Wednesday was her favourite day; green brought out the sallowness of her complexion, making her look peaky, and grey... grey was just grey. It reminded her of time compression, of the thick walls of grey and nothing.

Squall had suggested she get a job in Garden. She was seventeen—no, eighteen—years old and her formal education stopped somewhere around Year Ten when she had dropped out to join the Owls. It had seemed so important then. She had thought about going back; finishing her education, maybe even getting her A-Levels. Move back into That Man's house. Make reparations. Become The Daughter of Galbadia's President. She hated the thought of it just enough to consider it.

Part of her felt it was too soon to rejoin the world. Part of her wanted to dive right in. A year ago she would have. Leap, _just leap_, because if she stopped to look she might change her mind.

Warm fingers touched her elbow. Rinoa didn't need to look up. She knew who it was by the tempo of the heartbeat. "Thought you might be thirsty." Quistis held out a steaming mug. Milk tea. She took a seat beside Rinoa on the stage. "You've been out here all day. Aren't you cold?"

"Quistis." Rinoa steeled herself. The words came from wooden lips. "How long were you lost in time compression?"

Quistis' brow furrowed in consternation. "I'm not sure. A few hours. Six, maybe."

There was no sun to see by, no clocks or calendars. Quistis only had her own estimation, as did the rest of them. Zell said only a few minutes. Selphie estimated a day. Squall... she had not brought herself to ask Squall. She had seen him lying there, half-dead and rigid with the cold. Longer than the rest of them, she was sure. Not as long as... She bit back a shudder and smiled up at Quistis.

"Thanks Quisty," she said. She took a sip of the tea.

As they talked (about Squall, about Cid and Edea, about the shape of Garden), bit of colour returned to her cheeks. Rinoa's face was foreign to her now. She didn't look any older, which seemed like cheating. She should have lines around her mouth and hair that was thinning out. She should have craggy, veiny hands with leathery skin. She should have joints that ache and limbs that tremble.

"Eight," Rinoa said abruptly. "Eight, or nine. Maybe twelve."

Quistis stared into the glow of the setting sun. It brought out the shine of her hair, making her look ethereal in reds and oranges. "Hmm?"

Rinoa's fingers tightened around the mug. She remembered beating her hands against the stone until they were broken and bloody. Dislocated fingers and scraped skin. Curaga was a soothing balm she wanted to choke on. "That's how long I was wandering in compressed time."

Quistis frowned. "Hours?"

The Sorceress shook her head. "Years."

Hours were nothing now. A turn of the head; a shrug of the shoulders.

Rinoa continued, "I had no way of knowing. There was no day or night. I didn't get hungry or sick or weak." Her legs swung slightly. Where was all of her energy now? "I think I went far, far away." She tapped her forehead.

Quistis stiffened beside her. "Rinoa..."

"Don't tell Squall?" She heard the desperate edge to her voice, and hated herself for it. "I'd like to tell him myself."

There was still the magic to deal with. She was the Sorceress; he was the knight. Her knight. The magic would have burned her up inside if she hadn't clutched his ring around her neck and kept his voice in her thoughts. When her nightmares took her back to those years, it was his worried touch that brought her back to the waking world. Her dreams told her she hadn't yet made it out. His voice reassured her she had.

She wasn't sure she cared which was the truth and which was the fantasy. The magic still writhed in her either way.

He would whisper words of comfort to her. They weren't great feats of poetry, but he was trying. She never had the heart to tell him that they were the wrong words; utterly wrong.

Quistis nodded. "Yes, of course."

Rinoa set the half-empty mug down and hopped off the stage. She landed softly, the blanket fluttering behind her. "We made it, Quisty." She forced a grin on her face that was only half fake. "We held on and we came back."

The former instructor's voice was soft with unplaceable emotion. "Yes, we did."

Beyond the edge of the Garden's exterior, Rinoa liked to imagine she could see the whole world. Quistis' concerned gaze was a spot on her back, warm and unnecessary. The sky was grey with unshed rain; the ocean green and calm against Garden's hull. Miles and miles of sky was the only barrier between her and the green ocean; it, and the magic she could taste in her mouth. We held on, she thought, and we came back. It was laughable.

It had taken her years to find him again. Maybe it meant she was never supposed to have him.

She had swam in the ocean before. It was only cold for that initial impact. _Just leap._

Disentangling her arms from the blanket, she watched as it twisted in the wind and became a dot on the horizon. Let hell be reserved for someone who asked for it. She had already gone through worse.

Rinoa turned around and walked inside.

The only colour she saw was grey.


End file.
